


A Lovely Reminder

by coyotes



Category: BioShock
Genre: M/M, its...kinda porn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotes/pseuds/coyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for a kinkmeme fill. dreamwidth scares the hell out of me because i dont understand the format so im putting it here ;n;</p><p>the prompt was "atlas dicking around in jack's head with WYKs to tell his brain to process every touch sensation as pleasure so he's hard and needy just from atlas slapping him across the face or cutting him up.</p><p>alternatively the opposite in which he tells jack to process everything as pain and then just kind of touching jack gently all over while he screams and cries and begs him to stop."</p><p>i chose the second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lovely Reminder

Jack couldn’t remember what the command had been – a single would-you-kindly and he couldn’t recall just what it was; a funny thing, that, but it didn’t seem so funny with Atlas looming over him like a bird of prey, those blue eyes no less stunning than they had when Jack had first come in contact with him, but friendly was hardly any description now. Not friendly at all. 

“Now, boyo, just sit still a tic,” and Jack did as he was told because it was Atlas, there was no point in struggling for any semblance of control when he had nothing of the sort from the very start. 

He’d be an idiot to try something now.

But… Atlas _had_ said to stay put for only a ‘tic’, which had to have been a small amount of time, and when his fingers came close to Jack’s stomach to pull up his sweater, Jack sucked in his breath so that his stomach gained a bit of distance from that reach. So maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed after all. 

A warm palm touched down then, holding him firm against the bed. The pain that blossomed from his hand spread like the hotness it gave, a fire that burned without causing any sort of mark to show for it, didn’t leave his sweater engulfed in flames or his flesh to tear beneath the heat. Jack whimpered, holding his breath in to fight back the scream bubbling up in his throat while white dotted the corners of his vision –

“Would you kindly take a deep breath, Jackie? Can’t have you passing out on me now.”

\-- Jack let the air out, shutting his eyes tight when it brought him closer to the pain that shouldn’t have been there in the first place, Atlas wasn’t even doing anything and he… it hurt, but he breathed in again, and when he did, the hand fell away. His breath turned to a gasp of relief, eyes fluttering open to spot the damage.

There was none.

Absolutely nothing.

“Oh, y’feel like watchin’, do ya?” A voice from somewhere above muttered and fingers were parting through his hair – Jack rewarded Atlas with an airy hiss, the proper reaction to having his hair pulled, not lovingly carded through. “I don’t mind a bit.”

Another hand – he’d forgotten there were two – went after lifting up his sweater, thumb brushing over his stomach as light as could be, and Jack whimpered at it, that discomfort swelling up beneath his skin again until it practically took over, organs convinced they were being stepped on and beaten to burst. 

The other hand previously in his hair joined said partner in crime once his sweater was up past his ribs, both of them sliding up his skin and sending it into a fit of goose bumps on the way there. His body seemed to be reacting the right way but his mind was in a whole other place, obvious enough by the way he cried out then, kicking his legs on the bed and clenching his fingers down on Atlas’s shoulders to get him to back away. His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together, tears welling up in his eyes and watering down his vision while he made bitter sounds of protest, but Atlas seemed to be having none of it. 

Because he shushed him. Tilted his head off to one side to kiss the back of one of Jack’s hands. Jack recoiled, tore the other hand away from Atlas’s shoulder before he could do the same to the other one, pressing them flat to the bed with a look of utter betrayal plastered onto his face. The scorching feel lingered there on the one he’d managed to touch but he didn’t think to do it again, which seemed to be what Atlas wanted, judging by the smile he had.

He thought he heard a faint “good boy,” before those hands that had been blessedly still before brushed down his ribs, eliciting a loud moan of pain from Jack, who dug his heels into the bed and tried his damned hardest not to punch Atlas in the face, that was something he definitely wasn’t stupid enough to try, those tears falling in fresh rivulets down his cheeks. He was sobbing by the time the hands fell over his waist, as Atlas scooted down so that Jack couldn’t move from the knee up, all access given to everything above that.

Thumbs were tracing light circles over his hips and Jack couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his face, his harsh, wet breaths that struggled to stay even. But Atlas wouldn’t stop, kept moving his thumbs round and round and round, almost asking without asking for Jack to speak out – and the moment he realized that was what Atlas wanted, Jack spouted like a fire hose. “Please,” he said, the vowels in the middle running a little longer than he’d intended, a quiet pleaaase, so to speak. “Did I do something – I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, mmf- “And Atlas clapped one of those hands over his mouth, which Jack proceeded to drool on, if unintentionally. 

“Not a thing, lad. Not a thing. Just remindin’ ya who belongs t’who here. Relax.” The Cheshire grin in his voice was enough of an indicator that he had said exactly what Atlas wanted him to say. 

Jack glared because there was no way in hell he was going to relax, not now. But Atlas wiped some of the tears away, lifted his hand away and wiped the spit carefully over Jack’s shoulder.

Every single action had hurt him worse. 

When Atlas moved to sit between his legs and pulled Jack’s own up by the back of his thighs and just above his knees, sliding him upwards to make room, Jack sniffed a little, doing his best to calm down and get his heart to stop beating so hard in his ears. The red-hot pain blistered and he grew somewhat used to it – or maybe he was just getting tired. 

Probably the latter. Atlas had barely even touched him and his forehead sheened with sweat; he just hoped he was getting used to it. 

Lips fell over his crotch and the second the contact was known Jack closed his legs on reflex with a comically high-pitched growl of sorts, more of a squeak. So garbled, he couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. Atlas hummed and didn’t make any attempt to move, the vibration having him squirming and gasping above him in mingled pain and some hint of pleasure beneath what his mind was tricking him into believing. 

Atlas’s hands nudged at the insides of his thighs. “Spread ‘em,” he heard, muffled between his legs, and Jack fought it until he had to succumb to the pain and eased up. “Atta boy.” It earned him a pat to one leg. Jack groaned at that, too. It was like a domino effect, then, because Atlas laughed at his position between his legs, and Jack couldn’t stop the flow of noises that came from his throat, raw from everything that’d been ripped out from it. 

Atlas was mouthing over his pants, sending shocks of pain up his spine. He could feel himself getting hard beneath the touch for whatever reason; this didn’t feel good at all, Atlas might as well have been kneeing him in the dick.

He was faintly aware of his pants being pulled down, his cock facing up towards his stomach with precum at the head, and Atlas watched Jack’s face for a reaction before spitting on his own hand and curling his fist around his length. 

Jack’s hips bucked up into the touch but the rest of him shied away, his own hands fisted into his sweater like it was his safety blanket, shoulders bunched up from stress. Atlas’s thumb swiped through the precum, spread it around the head and continued the motion until Jack’s back arched and he wept out another battered sound of agony, legs twitching with the need to push Atlas away. He couldn’t do it. 

“Don’t feel too good, does it?” 

Jack shook his head with a surprising amount of vigor, eyes puffy and the rest of him looking rather pathetic, sitting there and taking it because he never had an option in the first place. 

“Want it to?”

Jack nodded just as quick, effectively giving himself a sense of whiplash in the process. Atlas moved his hand up and down, showed no signs of stopping what he was so set on acting out.

“Y’sure?”

“Atlas,” Jack whined in frustration, out of breath, and Atlas chuckled a bit, licking his lips with his tongue as he seemed to decide his next course of action, tightening his grip and continuing his motions from as high as he could go, twisting his wrist (Jack sobbed harder) nicely, and down back again.

“Right; don’t work yourself so damn hard, kid. Just gettin’ to the good part here.” The accent seemed to roll over then, twisting into something foreign that made his innards feel way heavier than they were. But just like that, it switched back into something more familiar and friendly and nice, Atlas, voice of the people. 

Atlas kissed just below his navel, and Jack didn’t have it in him to react. Letting the pain wash over him was so much easier. 

“Would y’kindly wipe that snot off yer face? It’s killin’ me, seein’ you like that.” Jack did as he was told, took his sweater and wiped it off as best as he could. “That’s it. Y’think you could enjoy this, too? I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The pain was gone. And with it came a wave of pleasure so hard it knocked the wind out of him, a new sort of pain breaching his senses as Atlas took him into his mouth, took him down to the hilt. Jack arched his back, puffing and squirming like he hadn’t just felt like his innards were being knifed out and Atlas hadn’t, in fact, been torturing him.

It didn’t take long for Jack to come without any sort of warning, after a couple of bobs of Atlas’s head he was done for and Jack spilled down his throat – Atlas took it, swallowed it like he was indifferent, and pulled off. He replaced his mouth with his hand again, palm of the other one slipping over the head of Jack’s cock, sensitive and not quite soft just yet. Jack sat up on his elbows, his head heavy enough to where he didn’t want to keep it held up, but he kept it up just the same.

Atlas kept rubbing over the head until Jack tried closing his legs again, fell into another fit of heavy pants and groans brought on by over-sensitive skin being touched without him ever asking for it in the first place. Atlas seemed satisfied once he stopped being physically capable of making real noises and instead turned to wheezing like a dog just to give a response, pulled his hands away and wiped everything that remained on Jack’s stomach. 

Jack passed out that way and Atlas didn’t try to force him back up, finding a certain fondness for the way Jack looked absolutely used up and spent, pants pulled a quarter of the way down, sweater pulled half the way up, stomach coated in his own mess. The very image alone was enough to serve as a reminder of who owned what in Rapture, and Jack wasn’t the only one sated and very well aware of his place in the hierarchy of things.


End file.
